


you're the judge (set me free)

by veronicacooper



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, District 7, Eventual Smut, F/F, Hollstein - Freeform, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:06:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4269582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronicacooper/pseuds/veronicacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 25th Annual Hunger Games. Enter Carmilla Karnstein and Laura Hollis - two tributes from District 7 who are entirely unprepared for the bloodbath they're about to face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_"This beautiful district is lush with trees, from which these citizens supply our lumber and paper. The people of District 7 are hardworking and down-to-earth."_

 

**_Laura_ **

I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, surveying the job I've just completed. Logs all stacked up neatly, encased in a net made of mesh-like material. They will likely be transported to a factory deeper into District 7 by first light for mass paper production or carpentry. The results of either operation will then be sent to the Capitol on the next train, because our daily labour isn't good enough for us to enjoy the fruits of what we reap.

But it's like this in every District. We all know it, but we do nothing about it. _Shut it, Hollis._ I think, biting back a spiteful chuckle. It was thoughts of rebellion like my own that led to a great war - ending only 25 years ago and resulting in an event called The Hunger Games.

A glance at the purple and golden sky reminds me that I'm supposed to be meeting my Dad and many of the other inhabitants of District 7 at The Lustig soon. I sigh and enter the small hut directly to my left, rinsing my blistered, dirty hands under a faucet. After packing my tools together and stuffing my gloves in my back pocket, I shoulder my rucksack and head towards the square, waving a few goodbyes to the lumberjacks and load pullers still finishing up.

I walk along the worn, dirt path in the middle of the woods and listen to the sounds of the forest. It's when I'm out here, away from the violence of the world and within nature, that I feel most comfortable. I've grown up in these woods, going from playing in them as a child with kids from our town to working in them with the other lumberjacks and load pullers. It's as much of a home to me as the small house that my Dad and I live in.

I'm almost back to town now. The glowing lights of the lampposts up ahead warn me of that. And where town is, The Lustig is. The Lustig is a pub right near the town square where we all meet and have drinks. I'm friends with the owner's child - LaFontaine. They handle the bar while my other friend Perry takes care of food orders. LaFontaine is there when I walk in, busying themselves with serving drinks to the many people who are in here tonight. We have a mandatory broadcast to watch, scheduled to start in a few minutes. I see my Dad with a few of his carpenter friends up near the front of the bar, drinking what looks like scotch.

"Laura!" He says when he sees me, extending his arms for a hug that I gladly accept.

"How're you doing, kiddo?"

I pull my head back a bit to look up at him. "I'm fine. I had a pretty easy day today. Nothing too hard."

My dad chuckles lightly. "Nothing's too hard for you, kid. If you had to pull a hundred logs at once you probably wouldn't complain, would ya'? Just like your mother."

I try to crack a smile but it must not reach my eyes because my Dad is patting me on the back and handing me a drink. "Drink up L, the broadcast is starting soon."

I turn away from my Dad and join LaFontaine and Perry, who're taking a break to watch the broadcast. I settle down into a chair and lean back, taking a sip of the liquor my dad gave me. My face twists up and LaFontaine snickers. "Not as sweet as you'd like, huh, L?"

I grin at what they said, my gaze flickering over to the projector that is now blaring the Panem National Anthem. After the song is over, the camera focuses in on our President standing in the center of a stage, behind a granite podium. It looks as if the entire capitol is there as an audience. We wait in silence for him to begin.

"When the laws for the Hunger Games were laid out, it was dictated that every twenty-five years the anniversary would be marked by a Quarter Quell. As this year is the 25th annual Hunger Games, this year will also see the first Quarter Quell." The President says, turning to a young boy in an all-white suit behind him.

The boy steps forward and holds out a wooden box, removing the lid for the President. There are many rows of envelopes within it, all containing a twist on the Games. It's as if they planned the Games to go on forever. The thought makes me sick to my stomach, but I continue watching.

The President removes an envelope with a "25" printed in large letters on the front. From within the envelope comes a square of paper.

"On the twenty-fifth anniversary of the start of the Hunger Games," he begins, "the districts must choose their own tributes by vote instead of reaping them, to remind them that the rebels chose to sacrifice their children in the rebellion."

For a moment we are all silent as the anthem plays once more and the broadcast goes dead. I share a worried look with LaFontaine and Perry for a moment as we realize what this means. I am still eligible for these games, unlike the both of them, as I'm only 17. I just have to hope that my fellow members of District 7 don't decide that I should go to my death.

It's at that moment that I truly realize what this twist on the Game means. It will turn us all against one another. Whoever is chosen as tribute faces the truth that they were betrayed by their neighbors. It's bad enough that they're going into an arena to kill or be killed - but they must also live with the fact that their friends and families wished this upon them.

A lone man at the bar breaks the silence. "Thank god," he says, "now there's no uncertainty as to which of our kids will be picked."

Many people start to agree with him, and sigh with relief. I can't believe this.

I stand up, kicking my chair aside in the process. "Laura!" Perry exclaims. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Giving these raging... _Bad people_ a piece of my mind!" I say, and slam my fist onto the table.

Everyone in The Lustig turns to me. "How is this any better?" I cry. "How can you be... _Relieved_? Relieved that now _we_ have to choose who dies? Isn't it bad enough as it is?"

"Listen here, little lady," a heavyset man by the door croaks, "it'd be good for you to keep your mouth shut. You never know, someone might decide to... Vote for you to go into those games."

"That's enough!" My Dad says, glaring at the other man.

"What're you gonna do about it? Maybe it'd be better if your daughter went as tribute. She's got one less parent to mourn her." The man replies.

To this, my dad rises from his chair at the bar, along with a few of his friends. "What did you say?" He spits at the man by the door.

"Stop!" I shout, pushing my way in-between them.

"He's not worth it, Dad." I look into my father's eyes pleadingly.

I may not be able to do much in the grand scheme of things, but if I can stop a fight from happening, by all means, I will.

My dad stares me in the eyes, and after a few tense moments sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He turns to his friends and gestures to the door. "Come on, let's go. But Jones," He shoves a pointed finger in the direction of the man by the door. "Don't think I'll be forgetting this any time soon."

They exit through the front door and I sigh, rejoining LaFontaine and Perry at our table near the back.

There's an awkward silence for a moment, so I take another sip of my drink and slow my breathing.

"Laura, you really shouldn't speak so carelessly," Perry begins, but I turn to her before she can continue.

"Really?"

I find myself getting up again. _My friends don't even support me._ I furrow my brow and storm past everyone, slamming the door of The Lustig shut behind me.

 

**_Carmilla_ **

I hear Mother in the other room, sifting through a cabinet as I wait here. She comes back carrying a wooden roller, wearing her twisted smile. "You know what this means, don't you, dear?" She's talking about the Quarter Quell.

I say nothing, so she hits me once with the roller. It's enough to make me double over and clutch at my stomach. "What does it mean, Carmilla dear?"

She kicks out my legs from underneath me. I fall hard, splitting my lip on our wooden floor. "It means," I spit out blood. "That you can get rid of me."

Mother shakes her head slightly and laughs bitterly. "No, Carmilla. It means I can give you what you deserve."

She's right. I'm worthless. This is what I deserve. "That's why your little girlfriend volunteered for the games."

_Elle._

I squeeze my eyes shut at the mention of her, to block the tears that threaten to envelop me.

"She never loved you, darling. Not like I do." Mother said, tilting my head upwards with a firm grip on my chin.

I can feel her perfectly manicured nails digging into my skin. Not enough to cut me, but enough to sting.

"Isn't that right dear?" She asks.

"Who loves you?"

 _No one._ "You do."

"You and I both know you'll never be as perfect as dear William, but you're still my daughter." She says in a sick, falsely sweet voice.

I shudder and yank my face out of her grip.

" _Did I say we were done?_ " A fist collides with the side of my face.

I spit out more blood.

I know the more I agree with Mother, the sooner my punishment will end.

"I'm sorry, Mother." I whisper.

She nods, straightening up and readjusting her blazer. "Get yourself cleaned up, girl. I'll be back tomorrow."

I lift myself up from my spot on the ground and watch my Mother leave the house. I sigh in relief and head to our kitchen, where I wipe the blood from my lip and sterilize it with alcohol.

At least, that's what I tell myself as an excuse for why I'm downing half a bottle of liquor.

Will finds me later, curled up in a ball in our bathroom upstairs, an empty bottle of whiskey in my grasp. He looks at me with questioning eyes. "Mother?"

"Yeah, Mother." I reply, or really, croak in response.

He sighs and puts an arm under me, placing my arm around his neck before picking me up. Will carries me to my room and sets me down on my bed, tucking me in.

"My little brother." I grunt to his retreating figure. "Always taking care of me."

He turns back to me. "I shouldn't have to, kitty."

After he leaves I rise on unsteady legs and change my clothes before crawling into bed. I may as well enjoy these last nights of comfort.  
I know I’ll be going into that arena in a few weeks.


	2. The Reaping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to churchofyourcurves for being my beta!

_"Attendance is mandatory unless you are on death's door. This evening, officials will come around and check to see if this is the case. If not, you'll be imprisoned."_

 

_**Laura** _

The sun is beating down heavily, burning our skin with its rays as they sort through us in the town square. Usually this square is filled with life. People mingling, shopping, enjoying their lives as best they can. That is not the case today - Reaping Day. I'm in line to sign in. The majority of twelve through eighteen year olds have already signed in, and the line ahead of me is fairly short. My father is several feet behind me with the rest of the crowd of over-eighteens. LaFontaine and Perry are somewhere in it, but I don't have time to look for them because suddenly it's my turn to sign in. The Peacekeeper hands me a pen and a clipboard and immediately the writing tool slips out of my hand and clatters to the floor. Out of the corner of my eye I see the official's arm twitch toward his baton as I bend down to retrieve the pen.

I stand up and quickly scribble my name under the section on the clipboard marked "Seventeen Years". A second peacekeeper ushers me to the roped area already full of people my age. We are closer to the front than most of the others, being the eldest. I look around me and notice everyone is standing stock still. We are too nervous to even shift around. It's stressful moments like these that I wish I was in the forest, pulling logs and enjoying nature. I can't imagine being in any other District than seven.  

From the crowd surrounding us there are hushed whispers - bets on who was voted for tribute. It's sickening. I want to turn and yell at them, but I remember the way the Peacekeeper's arm itched for his baton and it silences the urge.

It doesn't take much longer for everyone to be settled in their own roped areas, and then the reaping officially begins. There are large television screens positioned adjacent to the stage - showing the same broadcast that the capitol and other districts will see while the cameras positioned on buildings and on stage watch us. The stage erected in front of the Justice Building for the event supports a podium and a single glass ball. There are only two slips of paper inside. Onstage, behind the podium, are Mayor Cochrane, our escort from the capitol Betty Spielsdorf, and the two former victors that District 7 produced.  

Everyone goes silent when the mayor rises from his chair and steps towards the podium. "Good afternoon," he covers a cough with his handkerchief, "Panem, our beloved country, rose from the ashes of a place that was once known as North America. The land had been swallowed up by drought, storms, fires, and the encroaching seas that took so much of the former nation from its people. After a brutal war for what remained, Panem rose. Our capital brought peace and prosperity to our thirteen districts, yet rebels still sought to overthrow everything we had built. The Capitol reigned victorious, a shining symbol of hope, even in dark times. Twelve districts were defeated, the thirteenth destroyed. Then, twenty five years ago, The Treaty of Treason stated that every year we would hold The Hunger Games, to remind everyone that the Dark Days should never be repeated." He pauses and smacks his lips.

"This year, the year of the Quarter Quell, it was decreed that the districts must vote for their own tributes, to remind them that the rebels chose to sacrifice their own children. The twenty-four tributes will be sent to a vast outdoor arena and fight to the death until the last tribute standing wins. It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks." The mayor finishes, stepping back and gesturing for Betty to take the stage.

Betty is wearing some ridiculous getup that vaguely resembles a peacock. Her style, like that of everyone from the capitol, is entirely impractical and absurd. I watch as she gestures to the two former tributes from our district. "Daniela Lawrence here was the Victor only two years ago at age eighteen. And Matska Belmonde won her games ten years ago, at age sixteen. They will be the mentors to whomever is chosen this year." At this, she takes a large step to the glass bowl in the center of the stage. My lungs start to burn from lack of air when she fishes a slip of paper out of the bowl. Everyone is dead silent, unmoving. Betty smiles cheerily and calls out the name. My name. "Laura Hollis!"

All eyes are on me. I gulp and sneak a glance at my father. He looks absolutely broken. "Go," someone whispers next to me, and I feel my legs carrying me to the stage.  

When I reach the third step, my weight shifts to the side and I topple over. "Oh dear!" Betty cries, running over to me. Of course I'd be the one to trip. I feel Betty's delicate hands helping me up the rest of the way and she stands me on her left side. My face is crimson and I can feel it burning at the realization that the entire nation of Panem now knows that I'm clumsy. Including my competitors.

The audience forgets me momentarily as Betty goes to remove the next name. There's a collective sharp intake of breath amongst the crowd, and Betty determines another child's fate once again. "Mircalla... No, Carmilla Karnstein!"

The crowd slowly parts and a dark haired girl struts toward the stage from the eighteens section. Her last year of eligibility, and she had been chosen. I vaguely remembered seeing her from school, but she was usually in the schoolmaster's office, getting scolded. As my fellow tribute walks up the stairs, I study her face for the signs of fear and shock that I'm sure are present on mine. But her expression looks almost disinterested. Bored.

It's then that I realize I'm not disinterested nor bored - I am not okay. I'm fighting back tears, because I know I can't win these games. Because now my father will have no one. I had done this to myself - to _him_ , by my little incident at The Lustig. The mayor steps forward once more and begins reading The Treaty of Treason. I don't listen, though. I'm thinking of my friends. My father. The woods, that I'll never see again. The blood I'm about to have on my hands if I have any hope of surviving.

When the mayor finishes, our national anthem plays, and he motions for Carmilla and I to shake hands. I extend my hand towards her, and she glares into my eyes before taking it. I try my best to glare back, but she has beautiful whiskey colored eyes. She's beautiful, really, and her hands are soft. But she also has an edge to her, something intimidating. Scary, almost. I can tell she has a chance at winning."Okay, well, Happy Hunger Games!" Betty squeals, and leads us offstage, followed by several Peacekeepers. We walk up the stairs to the Justice Building and are placed in our separate rooms. I'm sure there are guards stationed outside of the doors. I look around the heavily furnished room, at the novelties my father and I can't afford to own. We're not poor, by any means. I hear District 7 is one of the wealthier districts, and I'm thankful that I live here. Well, lived here. A knock on the door brings me out of my thoughts. "Come in," I call out weakly. My voice sounds like sandpaper. It even feels like it, scratching the walls of my throat with its roughness.

Perry and LaFontaine are standing there, and it takes everything I have to not collapse, knowing that this might be the last time I see them. I know what it's like to lose someone. "We're not losing you, Laura." Perry says crossly.  

"I said that out loud?"

"Apparently so." LaF shrugs, and then pats me on the back. I let out an _oof_ at the unexpected force.

"Listen, L, you're gonna win that shit. You tiny little ball of rage." LaF ruffles my hair fondly, and I force a smile.

The silence between the three of us is deafening. I shift nervously on my feet and stare at a piece of artwork on the wall behind the two gingers.

"Oh! Um, I brought you this," Perry says awkwardly, and presents a cookie to me.

"Thank you, Perr," I say sincerely, and put my other hand over hers and give it a gentle squeeze.

Her face crumples and she lunges forward, enveloping me in a hug. LaFontaine wraps their arms around the both of us and we cry together. We stay like that for a while, just holding each other and letting our feelings out. Another knock on the door brings us back to reality, and we separate. The door opens, and my father is escorted in by a Peacekeeper, who takes LaFontaine and Perry away.

The door closes and my father and I look at each other in silence.  

"Hey, kiddo," he finally sighs defeatedly.

I run forward and bury my tear streaked face in his chest. He runs his fingers through my hair and holds me close. "You're stubborn, and so, so brave, Laura. Just like your mother. You hold onto that, and you have a real shot. You're strong. You've been using an axe since you were a kid."

I know my father is trying to convince himself more than me, and I let him. Something lights inside me then - a _want_ to survive, and not just survive... to win. I can't let my father go back to the place he was in when my mother died, and I know he will if I die too. I pull back and look up at him with utter determination in my eyes. "I'll win, dad. I can do this." He smiles and pats me on the back. "You know, you -"  

My father is cut off by the Peacekeepers that flood the room. "Laura Hollis, time to go." They lead my father and I into the hallway.

I glance to my right, at the room where they had taken Carmilla, and I see her holding a teary eyed boy a few inches taller than her in the middle of the hallway. The peacekeepers are trying to pull him away from her, and he's putting up quite a struggle. "Carmilla! You can't go!" The boy cries, sobbing, as a Peacekeeper finally manages to dislodge him.

"You can't protect me anymore, Will." Carmilla's voice cracks and they wrestle her away. For a moment I think her carefully constructed facade is going to break, but her face returns to its usual stone cold expression as soon as we round the corner.

They march us straight out of the front of the building. Cameras flash from all sides, and I can’t help myself from blinking every time. I look over to my right at Carmilla and notice how she doesn’t even flinch. She's calm. As if she's used to this. I feel myself being shoved forcefully into the backseat of a black car parked directly in front of the Justice Building. When the doors are closed, I sigh in relief. I'm safe from the cameras, for the time being.  

__

_**Carmilla** _

I sigh bitterly and look out the darkened car window as we pull away from everything I've ever known. Honestly, it comes as a relief to me to be headed into the arena. It's better than being at home with the psychotic being that calls itself my mother. I can only hope she won't lay a finger on Will. Hopefully with me gone she'll finally be the loving mother to Will that he deserves. I glance into the rearview mirror and see a convoy of similarly dark cars behind us, a welcome addition to the ones already ahead of us.  

I catch myself glancing at the other tribute. Laura Hollis. She's tiny. Well, I'm not much taller. But she looks so naïve, innocent. I can tell she's been crying. Even from the side her eyes are red and puffy. I wonder who lost her today. She turns and meets my eye and I hurriedly glance away. I can't afford to make friends with anyone that I'll have to kill later. I look at her again, despite my reservations. She's looking out the side window, jaw dropped in awe. I almost laugh to myself. It must be her first time in a car.  She doesn't turn to me again.

A short drive later and we arrive at the District 7 train station. The tracks lead left and right, linking us to all the other districts, and at the end of the line - the Capitol. Our destination. Immediately after we exit the car, we are bombarded with questions and cameras being shoved into our faces. Everyone wants to get to know the new axe-murderers that'll be in the arena. All the District 7 tributes from the past twenty-five years have favored the axe as their primary weapon. It's almost cheating - most of us are extremely skilled with the axe.

A microphone grazes the side of my face and I slap it away with a scowl. I hate people. Especially intrusive ones. And all of these reporters fit both of those categories.

"Ms. Karnstein, is your mother honored that you've been chosen as tribute?" someone shouts at me.

Of course. The entire Capitol has probably been made aware of my mother's position now. I try my best to keep a straight face and ignore the cameras as I make my way to the train. I turn back and see that Laura is waving and smiling to the cameras. Traitor. Eventually she joins me, followed by a giant ginger, Matska Belmonde, and our escort from the capitol, who's decided to switch from her peacock outfit to something that resembles a cactus.

The doors close with a _zip_ and then we're safe from the seeing eyes of cameras. The train shoots forward immediately. I remember vaguely that these high-speed capitol models travel around 250 miles per hour. Betty heads immediately to the dining car, waving us on and telling us to clean ourselves up in our chambers.

I perk an eyebrow at this. "Nice to know they take care of us before they kill us," I mutter and head in the opposite direction of Betty, to where I assume the bedrooms are. But not before I catch Laura's glance of concern.  

When I finally find a bedroom I slide the door shut behind me loudly and head to the washbasin. I splash water on my face and look up into the mirror. My eyes are tired and weary, my hair disheveled. I look like I've been attacked. No wonder Laura looked at me like that. I dry off my face and then notice there's a shower in the corner of the bathroom. Laura seems to notice at the same time as I do, because I hear her in the next room over. "A _shower_!"

I chuckle to myself quietly. She's probably never seen one. I remember her from school. Her father was a lumberjack, so I can only assume they were from the lower class. Seconds later there's a hesitant knock on the door of my quarters. I walk over to it slowly and lean my head against it.

"Carmilla?" a voice whispers softly.

I bite my lower lip and chew. Maybe if I'm silent she'll leave.  

"I know you're in there. I need help turning on the - the shower," she says more loudly this time.

I take a step back and adjust my clothing quickly before sliding open the door.  

"What do you need help with?"  

"I j-just don't know how to use the shower, really," she stammers, embarrassed.

"What makes you think I know how to use it?"  

Laura raises her eyebrow at me pointedly. "I may not know much about you, but I know who your family is."

"Fair enough," I sigh, and lead the way into her room.

Her room has the same setup as mine. Heavily furnished, decorations everywhere. I head straight for the bathroom and fiddle with the holo-controls by the side of the shower. "Warm? Cold? What'll it be, cupcake?" I drawl.

"Warm? Is warm good?" she asks from the bedroom.

"Yeah, warm's fine," I call softly and press the subsequent buttons.

I make to leave but bump into Laura as soon as I exit the bathroom. Her eyes go wide and I look her up at down. She's wearing only a towel. "Sorry," I say. I'm not.

"Uh... Thanks for the help!" she squeals, and slams the bathroom door shut behind her.

I pass by the bed on my way out and eye her belongings that are strewn across the luxurious fabric. They're the usual green and brown-hued clothing exclusive to District 7, but that's not what catches my eye. It's the leather corded bracelet with what looks to be a bear etched into a silver charm in the center. I pick it up and turn it over in my hands. On the back of the charm is written:  

_For my little bear_

_Love Mom_

At the words "mom" I flinch instinctively and drop the bracelet back onto the bed, running out of the room. I'm okay. I'm okay. She can't hurt me here.  

I'm not okay.  

I find myself in my room again and curl up on the floor. I don't know how many minutes pass, but the next thing I _do_ know, someone is knocking on the door. "Fuck off," I say. What else can anyone say in my position?

"Carmilla, it's time for supper. Get dressed and join us." Its not Laura this time.  

"Fine," I grunt, and pull myself up.  

The dresser in the corner of the room is full of expensive clothing. I almost don't change, but after a second glance down at what I'm wearing, I realize my clothes aren't in the best shape. I rifle through the clothes provided for me, most of which are entirely too colorful for my liking. I settle on a pair of leather pants and a plain black T-Shirt. I change into them and pull on a pair of warm, wooly socks and lace up my boots over them.

When I leave my room, Laura is waiting for me in the hallway. I can't help myself. "What do you want?" I spit at her, and she flinches.  

"Nothing!"  

I watch her run in the direction of the food car. I can't afford for her to trust me. For my sake, and for hers. She can't rely on anyone in the arena.  

The next time I see Laura is around five minutes later, when I join everyone for dinner. The atmosphere is tense, and I glance curiously at Laura, wondering if she told our mentors or Betty how I'd behaved in the hallway. Her face betrays nothing, however, and she still _smiles_ at me. She either has a deathwish or she's just genuinely the most naïve human in Panem.

"So!" Betty says in a falsely cheery voice, "I hope you all found your quarters to your liking."

Laura nods and I just stare blankly ahead. I see no point in trying to communicate with these lackwits. Unfortunately, I'm asked a direct question.

"So, how are you, Carmilla?" Danny asks me.

"Just fucking peachy, big red," I sneer.  

"Oh dear! Carmilla, please remember your manners at the table," Betty says hurriedly, trying to cover up my rudeness.

"No, it's perfectly fine, Ms. Spielsdorf," Danny says, eyes trained on me in a glare. "You got a problem with me?"

"Yeah, I can't see any of the food, you're taking up all the space."

"Carmilla," Matska warns me.

"Shut up, Mattie," I spit, not even looking at her.

"Mattie?" Laura asks curiously, but she's drowned out by Danny throwing a chair at me.

I duck away just in time. "Yeah, bitch? Is that all you got?" I taunt, beckoning for her to get closer.

Betty screams and runs into the next car.

Danny is absolutely seething with rage, and I just smirk at her. Eventually she comes at me with a roar, and I duck to the side as soon as she reaches me. It doesn't faze her, however. She hasn't lost her touch, even though it's been a few years. The ginger spins around quickly and swings a fist at me. It hits its target, but I barely stumble. I know how to take a punch. And my time at school has taught me how to give them, as well.

I get a few good hits on her, but she gets even more on me. Eventually Mattie steps between us and pushes us apart. Danny is chomping at the bit to get another go at me, but Mattie successfully restrains her. Laura is watching the whole scene with terrified eyes.

"Let's go, Carmilla," Mattie beckons, and I follow without a second glance at the blonde in the room.  

"So she's kind of... intense." I hear as the door between the two cars slides shut.  

"I'd tell you off, but you showed some impressive skills, Carmilla." Mattie crosses her arms and leans back against the wall of the train. "Skills that could help you win these games."

I laugh at the absurdity of her words. "I have as much chance of winning as Hollis does. And that doesn't seem to be much."

Mattie shakes her head at me. "You underestimate her."

"How so?"

"She has a determination I haven't seen in a long time. A will to live. That goes a lot farther than any set of skills. Sure, skills help. But if you don't have a will to survive, you won't."

I nod slowly and turn to the door of my room. Mattie stops me with a hand on my arm. "It would do you good to not go into this alone. Talk to Laura," she urges.

"Fat chance," I say, and slam the door in her face.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wish to ask me questions, know when updates are coming out, or otherwise hamper me - my tumblr is carmillacumstein.tumblr.com


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